The Clock of the Centuries

by Albert Robida

  “Monsieur le Marquis?”

  “Monsieur le Duc?”

  “What do you think of His Majesty’s demands? Making us come up in that box—it’s unprecedented!”

  “It’s disheartening! I’d leave the Court forthwith if I weren’t afraid of losing my privileges and positions…”

  “Me too, Marquis! Versailles is becoming impossible! The King is great in everything, even his faults!”

  “Especially in his faults! In that respect, Louis the Great is truly immense!”

  “Colossal, rather! Everything about His Majesty is colossal: vanity, selfishness, severity…”

  “And avarice! Just yesterday he refused me a trifle, a tax of 30,000 livres in cash, to which I happen to have the right…”

  “Me too…”

  Nothing more was heard; the Marquis de Balantin had hurled himself forward and covered the apparatus with his hat—while Louis XIV ordered the Duc and the Marquis to be taken to the Bastille.

  VII. In which His Majesty glimpses

  many more new things.

  In response to Louvois’ proposal, the King declared that the Council meeting that had not taken place at Versailles that day would be held immediately, before the continuation of the excursion. That way, they could immediately employ these astonishing inventions, the telephone and the phonograph, for the transmission of orders to the armies and the provinces.

  The courtiers, who were not admitted to the Council, crowded the balconies outside or went back down. Madame de Sévigné installed herself before a phonograph in order to talk for the benefit of her daughter, Madame de Grignan:

  “My dear Grignan,

  “I shall not write to you any more, and you shall not address any more missives to me; you shall remain out there among your olive-trees, and I shall not budge from Versailles, and yet we shall speak, chat and gossip! You shall hear my voice, which will question you as to your health, my dear daughter, and I shall hear your voice, which will reply to me immediately and not after a fortnight! However, there will not be any witchcraft involved, and I’ll wager 100, 1000 even, that you will never guess the mechanism of such a marvelous invention—and no more shall I, who am no savant…”

  With his elbows on the balustrade, the thoughtful Molière sketched out an idea for a comedy about savants, in which the new inventions furnished material for several amusing scenes. Not far away from him, Vatel, the great Condé’s cook, lamented everything he could see.

  “It’s extraordinary,” he said, looking at the crowds swarming in the gardens of the Exposition and the neighboring highways. “The world, the people, the vulgarity! And the food to nourish all of them? I can no longer see anything in the market-places; they must have eaten everything. There will be no fresh fish for Monseigneur’s great feast!”

  After an hour, the Council meeting was concluded. Colbert and Louvois sent urgent dispatches by telephone or telegraph to the governors of the provinces; prefects and sub-prefects replied. The ministers did not understand any of the replies, declaring that the inventions were worthless and that the system of couriers on horseback was decidedly superior to all these novelties.

  The King was discontented when he descended from the Tower, and he spoke to Célestin severely. The latter endured the King’s bad temper philosophically, and led the Court to the Central Dome. They did not go quickly; there were many things to see on the way and the cortège stopped frequently, in the midst of a terrible crush of gawkers, who stared at the King very disrespectfully. A veritable caravan of English people with large eyeglasses set themselves obstinately to walk backwards in front of the royal party, scrutinizing it and taking notes from the explanations provided by a guide. Twice the King gave the order to summon the archers of the guard; when the guard did not arrive, the King became extremely angry.

  The lords who had spread out through the Exposition during the Council meeting rejoined the cortège, bringing news. While he walked, Monsieur de Louvois read the newspapers that had been brought to him, and could not help starting with astonishment on reading political articles that were veritably incomprehensible. There was mention of a lot of unknown people, who were represented as important statesmen, of entirely new institutions, of subversive deliberations, of elections, and so on. All of these unknowns seemed to be involved in the government, but there was not a word about the King or his actual ministers. It was the same with foreign affairs. Had the governor of Hardenberg received the help he was expecting? It was entirely unreasonable. Louvois promised to send everyone involved to sleep in the Bastille that very evening.

  Racine, Boileau and a few lords who were going off to visit the galleries were attracted by the booksellers’ exhibits. In leafing through books they were subjected to one surprise after another. Molière could not get over it: 20, 30 editions of his works in magnificent bindings! And that was not the most surprising thing. What was truly extraordinary was that plays that were still at the planning stage in his head were there, complete and finished!

  And the histories of France—by various writers, but all equally astonishing—were stupefying! Instead of stopping at the present time—which is to say, at Louis XIV—the authors continued, encroaching upon the future! And these historians, in their appreciations of the Sun King, exhibited a harshness bordering on severity!

  One of the King’s councilors, scandalized and indignant, seized the books and took them to the ministers. Monsieur Colbert, duly informed, ordered that the historians and their publishers should immediately be put on trial. This affair increased the King’s bad humor; he moved through a number of galleries at a rapid pace.

  So many subjects to astonish His Majesty! So many new and unknown things! The French had always had a hunger for change, to be sure, but that hunger seemed to have become a fury, to judge by all these objects so new in appearance, all these bizarrely-formed items of furniture and all other these strange things! All that iron, bronze, copper!

  The Court went from metallurgy to photography, and then fell out of the noisy gallery of pianos into the clothing section, confronted by the window-displays of tailors and fashion-designers…

  The King looked askance at Célestin, interrogating him continually about these novelties. Suddenly, the King stopped; they had arrived in the vast Hall of Machines. All of them were in motion, steam belching, wheels turning, drive-belts purring, pistons, crank-shafts, levers, gears all working, rolling, striking, grinding with a metallic clamor, the rumble of 100,000 thunderclaps—enough to make heads that were less than solid burst asunder.

  Louis XIV refused to go in, and the Court recoiled, gripped by fear in confrontation with the infernal racket. “What’s that? What are all these engines vomiting smoke, these machines with arms of iron and claws of steel? Is this gallery not the antechamber to Hell?”

  The din prevented Louis from hearing Célestin’s explanations. The Court made haste to get back to the open air. Only one person had dared to venture a little way into the gallery of machines, and that was the cook Vatel, who subsequently hurried to rejoin the cortège.

  “I’ve worked it out, Monsieur!” he said, breathlessly, to Célestin. “What we just saw are the kitchens; all those devices breathing steam are perfected ovens, aren’t they? It takes all that to feed all these people.”

  “Yes,” said Célestin, to get rid of Vatel—but the latter took him by the arm and wanted to know how many oxen and sheep were consumed every day by this Paris overflowing with people.

  “I don’t have time…”

  “Tell me, I beg you…”

  “All right, but you’ll let me go? Three thousand oxen, 20,000 sheep and 5,000 pigs are thrown living into those machines, transformed instantly into roasts, stews, joints, sausages and sliced meats…”

  “What about the hides?”

  “The same machines that produce a delicately browned shoulder of mutton or a braised leg of pork, simultaneously produce comfortable shoes, and pairs of boots on which one only has to mount the spurs
.”

  “Many thanks, Monsieur! I prefer my simple ovens! I’ll run to the market right away to buy some fresh fish!”

  VIII. The horror of war perfected.

  The final catastrophe.

  Célestin ran to catch up with the Sun King.

  Louis XIV no longer wanted to appear to be astonished by anything. He made no objection when Célestin asked him if he would deign to climb into a carriage on the Decauville railway. Because the King said nothing, the Court dared not display its astonishment.

  Only Vatel, in the last carriage, declared that he was not at all surprised. “These Parisians have to pull their carriages with mechanical contraptions,” he said, “because they’ve eaten all their horses, damn it!”

  On disembarking on the esplanade in front of the Algerian Palace, Louis XIV was greeted by native music; the colonial troops—Algerians, Senegalese, Annamites, Sepoys, Spahis—formed a line. Louis, astonished, passed along it in review.

  “Who are these people?” Turenne asked. “Where do these colored people, these black and yellow folk, come from?”

  “They’re French soldiers, Monsieur le Maréchal.”

  “Have we stolen the troops of the Turkish Sultan and the Great Mogul?”

  “They’re new regiments,” said Condé, who had just ascertained the fact. “Royal Algerian, Royal Tonkin… Some idea of Monsieur de Louvois…hmm. I prefer the deportment of our musketeers and pikemen!”

  New surprises awaited them at the pavilion of the Ministry of War. What were these engines of such unfamiliar appearance, these strange and complicated cannons, all this totally unknown equipment? Célestin Marjolet gave explanations to the King and the generals. Those iron cones were projectiles, shells bursting at the slightest shock and capable of blasting everything to pieces, men and ramparts alike! Those frightful engines were advanced cannons that sent monstrous projectiles over ranges of two, three or four leagues!

  Louis, shrugging his shoulders, looked at his ministers severely, accusing them of having diminished his finances in ridiculous trials. Turenne and Condé waxed indignant. To send projectiles two leagues, to combat without seeing at such a distance: that was not war—which is to say, the struggle of brave men, body-to-body, eye-to-eye, matching courage against courage! What would passion, spirit and valor be worth? For what would our cavalry, charging with swords in hand, count against these engines?

  “To invent machines permitting random massacres at a distance of leagues of terrain,” Turenne declared, forcefully, “is criminal folly, and we propose that the King should have the inventors hanged, beginning with Monsieur Marjolet!”

  Louis XIV shared their indignation, and when Célestin Marjolet had led the cortège into the aeronautical exhibition, the King directed a severe stare at the poor savant, demanding to know whether he had the audacity to mock him by trying to make him believe that a man could go up into the sky and travel among the clouds.

  “Try to understand, Sire,” Célestin attempted to say.

  “Enough!” cried the King, in a thunderous voice. “Beware! You seem to me to be responsible for all these singularities that are spoiling my Kingdom. If I cannot put everything back in order very quickly, I shall have a strong desire to have you shut up in the Bastille for the rest of your life!”

  “Deign to look, Sire!” Célestin replied, pointing at the tethered balloon that was soaring majestically in the sky above the Champ-de-Mars.

  The King, Turenne, Colbert, Louvois and the entire Court released a cry of amazement and looked at one another.

  “If that is possible, must everything be possible?” cried the King. “Balantin, if you want me to pardon your recent lack of respect, you’ll go up in that.”

  “The air is the one remaining element that man was not yet able to conquer,” Célestin said, triumphantly, “but it is done, Sire—the immensity of the atmosphere is ours! Would you like to see this marvel at closer range, Sire?”

  “Yes,” said the King, in a somber tone. “Let’s go, gentlemen!”

  On the way, Marjolet perceived that the captain of the guards and two other gentlemen had set themselves at his sides, their hands on the hilts of their swords. He turned his head and saw Louvois scribbling on a piece of paper, which appeared to be an order for his imprisonment in the Bastille…

  The tethered balloon had been brought back to earth when the court arrived in the enclosure. Louis XIV studied the colossal aerostat with astonishment and lent an attentive ear to Célestin’s explanations. The Marquis de Balantin persisted in believing that he was the victim of a hallucination, refusing to recognize the reality of the balloon even when he had touched it. He did more than touch it, though; the King ordered him to climb into the basket, and the balloon soon made a restrained ascent just for him.

  At the first swaying movement of the rising balloon, the poor Marquis de Balantin threw himself on to the floor of the basket and refused to look at anything. He heard the exclamations of the Court diminishing by degrees, then heard nothing more. He opened one eye then, lifted himself up slightly, and looked out. Horror! He was floating in mid-air, in the domain of the birds! Four hundred meters beneath him, the people of the Court, having become mere units in the seething mass of humanity, could scarcely be distinguished.

  He closed his eyes again and did not open them until he heard the exclamations of his friends again. He had come down safe and sound! Whew!

  The entire Court precipitated itself into the basket to congratulate him on his voyage and ask him what impressions he had felt.

  “You are the first man to have risen so high, Balantin!” said the King.

  As soon as everyone was in the basket, the balloon rose a little way into the air and began to oscillate.

  “I want to go back down!” cried Balantin

  There was no time to say any more; a violent agitation cut his speech short.

  Célestin, fearful of what he had done, recoiling from the increasing embarrassment of the return of the past, had just cut the cable retaining the aerostat—and the liberated balloon set off majestically for the clouds.

  Horror! In the blink of an eye, the Sun King and his Court disappeared into the sky!

  In the emotion of that frightful event, we all hurled ourselves upon the guilty Marjolet…

  And I woke up, abruptly!

  It was a dream… A very vivid dream that I had had, sitting in a corner while Célestin Marjolet belabored us with an interminable account of his crazy research.

  THE END

  THE CLOCK OF THE CENTURIES

  Prologue.

  I. In Anticipation of Delights to Come

  The Annual Conference of the I. C.—formerly known as the House Rolling Club and the Ambulant Village Conference of International Chauffeurs 9—had been exceedingly brilliant and sumptuous for many years, held in hotels in Paris, London, Berlin, Vienna and other capitals.

  This evening, however, the physiognomy of the famous congress was truly strange: dimly lit rooms alongside dark and empty ones, a very visible disorder, dusty corners—and, amid the disarray of things, a less visible sadness hanging over the people distributed in little groups, chatting in low voices in the corners, their brows furrowed, their hands clenched about newspapers or official telegrams. It was far from the joyful evenings of 12 or 15 years before, the rooms full of beautiful women, the parties bringing together artistic elites, the cheerful companions of every social stratum. This evening, among the twenty or thirty habitués of the Conference, lost in the immensity of splendid but seemingly-abandoned reception-rooms, all the faces wore anxious fixed smiles and all foreheads were frowning; all eyes were staring at the floor or rolling in their sockets, according to temperament, while moustaches bristled.

  In the half-silence comprised by murmurous conversations in hushed voices, a slightly louder exclamation caused all heads to turn abruptly.

  “If only that were all!”

  It came from the middle of a group of people sitting with lowered heads
and dangling arms; one man standing up had just spoken, emphasizing his remark with a brusque gesture.

  “What do you mean, if only that were all?” several voices murmured. “My dear Laforcade, if you’re not exaggerating your situation, you’re ruined!”

  “My God, yes, my dear Morandes, yes, Monsieur Clémency, yes Cazenal, you’ve said it: I’m ruined—but I have a few months in hand before I hit rock bottom. Besides, so many other ruined men have had to survive, and will survive in future! There have been so many bankruptcies since the social edifice began to shake and crack beneath our feet and everything began to collapse on our heads! There’s nothing to be done; you know that as well as I do. No one will escape; at best, the most fortunate will only be able to delay their personal bankruptcy until the general catastrophe! I find the political industry too repugnant to try to get out of it by enrolling in the communist bands that are seizing power and will soon overthrow the old society that took centuries to build, brutally and legally, thus changing our country—for a while—into something akin to a vast prison-camp. Am I right?”

  “Alas, yes!”

  “Since it’s absolutely inevitable that the world will collapse in that manner, I’m thinking about other things. If I appear today to be virtually indifferent to my own personal collapse and the general misfortune, both of which are certain, complete and inevitable within six months, it is, you see, because I am facing something worse, and just as certain, almost immediately!”

  “But what could be more frightful?” said the man that Laforcade had addressed as his dear Morandes, a florid gentleman with a large curled moustache and eyes overshadowed by thick eyebrows.